


you're no stranger to me

by trepan



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Magical Realism, Multi, Polyamory, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:56:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9602660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trepan/pseuds/trepan
Summary: Strange shit happens all the time in Riverdale, but it especially happens the closer you get to the river.





	

It’s probably the river. Things— _things_ things—happen all the time in Riverdale, but they especially happen the closer you get to the water. Farther out, toward the highway, time and space flatten out, relax into a more natural rhythm. You can pretty much be sure that if you buy a candy bar from the Circle K on the outskirts of town, it’ll stay a candy bar, no funny business, and you won’t run into your long-lost love at the register, or at least you’ll only stand the usual chance of running into them.

On their way into town, Veronica’s mother tries to warn her, says: “Don’t go swimming, OK, Veronica?”

Veronica wrinkles her nose. “In a river? Fish shit in rivers, Mom.”

Hermione looks at her in the rearview mirror. “I’m serious. Don’t go swimming under any circumstances. The river isn’t safe.”

“Is it radiation? Because the EPA isn’t a thing anymore? I get it. I don’t have any desire to become a mutant fish-girl hybrid. Oh—that’s a mermaid. I just realized that’s a mermaid.” 

“I’m just making sure you understand,” Hermione says.

“Yeah,” Veronica says. “Sure. Gimme the aux, I’m going to play early Taylor Swift. Really get myself in the mood for some wholesome small-town shenanigans. Do they tip cows here, or is this not farmland? I’m actually super confused about the geography of this place.”

“I think there’s a farm out west,” Hermione offers. “At least there used to be. The McPhersons owned it.”

“Could you just narrow it down to a part of the country, maybe? It’s definitely not the Southwest. Midwest? Northern California? How long have we been driving?”

“Yes,” says Hermione. Veronica rolls her eyes and plugs her phone in.

So they move to Riverdale. School hasn’t started yet, so Veronica is solitary, spending her time painting her new room (originally Pepto-Bismol pink, which is a Look but not necessarily her look) and unpacking, and eventually she gets bored and goes for a walk, and what do you know, there’s the infamous River which she’s not supposed to swim in, and she definitely does not swim in it, she just sits on the dock and takes off her shoes and dips, like, a single toe into it, so it’s absolutely not her fault when she follows the path back up to the neighborhood and it’s not her neighborhood anymore.

Or it’s probably not her neighborhood. She’s not super familiar with the houses yet. It could be her neighborhood. It could be, except when she went to the river it was fall, and now it’s definitely summer. It’s like ninety degrees and all the leaves are gone from the path and there are two kids running through the sprinkler on someone’s pristine green lawn.

She spins around. The path to the river is gone.

“Veronica,” someone says.

She turns again. The someone is a pretty blonde. Ponytail, yellow bikini top and white sarong. Flip-flops. “Hi,” Veronica says.

The blonde smiles. “Hey. That was fast. I thought you were going to change into your swimsuit.”

“My swimsuit?”

“Yeah. I just left you in the house.” She jerks her thumb back toward a white Colonial Revival, close enough to its neighbors that this could be the East Coast. Is Riverdale on the East Coast? “Aren’t you going to be too hot in that?”

“I’m . . .” Veronica glances down at her jeans and wool sweater. “Yeah. I guess.”

“OK, well, get your suit! Me and Archie will meet you at the pool.”

Veronica waits for the universe to explain, but nothing happens, so she just says, “OK.” The blonde grins at her and skips off toward a redheaded boy Veronica assumes is Archie, leaving Veronica to . . . go into a stranger’s house? Where, supposedly, her swimsuit will be? She glances behind her again. The path was like, _right there_. And now it’s not.

Maybe she hit her head, and she has amnesia. She should go to the hospital or something. Veronica checks her pockets. Nope, she left her phone charging at home, because she used up all the battery sending snaps of herself in various possible first-day outfits to her ex-best minion Sharon. OK. She’ll just go in the blond girl’s house. That’s fine. That’s what she was told to do, anyway. She’ll go in and find a phone and call the hospital.

She makes her way up the brick path and tries the doorknob, but before she can push, the door flies open.

At first she thinks she must be looking at her reflection in the glass screen door. The look of surprise on the other Veronica’s face is exactly like her own. But her reflection is wearing a bright blue strappy bikini and her black wedge sandals make her approximately three inches taller than the actual Veronica. Her reflection’s eyes widen, and then she’s being yanked inside the house by her arm. The door slams behind her, and she stares into the eyes of . . . her twin? Her doppelganger? Herself?

“Oh, OK, I’m losing my mind,” Veronica announces. “This is cool. I guess the divorce trauma is kicking in sooner than I thought. Wow, my dad is going to have to double the Veronica therapy budget.”

Her double shakes her a little. “Hi. Focus. What year are you from?”

“Uh.” Veronica wobbles. “What _year_?”

“Never mind.” Her double narrows her eyes. “Anastasia in Granite on the brows plus matte Colourpop plus way too much highlighter equals sophomore year. Early sophomore year. Did you just move to Riverdale?”

“Excuse me, I’m glowing,” Veronica says, pointing to her face. “It’s called dewy. And I moved here three days ago, who are you?”

“I’m you,” her double says. “Except it’s the year 2018 right now, and I don’t remember any of this, so either you’re going to forget everything that’s happening right now, or our lives are currently diverging into alternate dimensions because of what you learn from me—equally alarming prospects. I think we should both sit down.”

Veronica obediently follows her double upstairs into what looks like Betty’s room, based on all the pink and white.

“So, 2018, huh?” she asks, sitting on the floral bedspread. “How’s Beyonce? Did she have the babies?”

“Beyonce’s goth now,” the other Veronica says. There’s no sign she’s joking.

“Wait, really?”

“Let’s stick to what’s important.” Other-Veronica puts her hand on Veronica’s knee. “You got here from the river, didn’t you?”

“How did you know?” The other Veronica opens her mouth, but Veronica gets there first. “Don’t go in the river. Ah. OK. Thanks for being specific, Mom. The river is a time . . . portal . . . thing?”

Other-Veronica shrugs. “It’s more like the river is just the epicenter of the weirdness endemic to Riverdale. Sometimes it’s big things like this—I’ve met you and also another Veronica from the end of senior year—by the way, we get really hot. Like I know we’re hot now, but like, _really_ hot. I just want to give you the same hope I was given—and sometimes it’s little stuff. One time I found a locket from the 1800s in my turkey sandwich and solved the mystery of where this lady’s great-grandmother had run off to. It’s a long story and it didn’t really involve me, but it was cool.”

Veronica’s on the edge of the bed. “So like . . . is this the ‘magic is real’ talk? Yer a wizard, Veronica?”

“No. Cheryl’s the witch around here.” Other-Veronica pauses, and then says, “Oh, right, you don’t know Cheryl yet. Just wait. She’s like you, but ginger and more.”

“I’m having trouble gauging whether you mean witch like itch with a B, or witch like Sabrina the Teenage,” Veronica says. She feels like her eyes can’t get any bigger.

Other-Veronica gives her a Mona Lisa smile. “Let’s talk about you.”

“What about me?”

“Well . . .” Other-Veronica examines her nails. “I’m not going to say your first year at Riverdale High was a total disaster. But you wasted a hell of a lot of time, and you made some unfortunate first impressions. It could be that this is the river’s way of rectifying that. A little do-over.”

“I’m going to know the future,” Veronica breathes. “Or I’m going to spend a long time in a psychiatric ward! Either way, this is the most interesting thing to happen to me since the time I tried bubble tea without knowing what it was.”

“It went up your nose,” Other-Veronica says wisely.

“It did,” Veronica agrees. “It went up my nose.”

“Well, let’s start with the obvious. You have two soulmates.”

_“Two,”_ Veronica says. “Wow, I’m so lucky! Or is this complicated?”

“Complicated,” Other-Veronica says. “But it doesn’t have to be.”

“Who are they?”

“Betty Cooper and Archie Andrews,” Other-Veronica says, like she’s relishing the words.

Veronica squirms. “They’re not, like, seventy, are they?”

“What? Why would they be seventy?”

“Betty, Archie . . . Sounds like retirement home names.”

Other-Veronica waves her hand. “No, that’s how everybody’s named in Riverdale. There’s a girl named Midge at school. You’ll get used to it. It’s like noir Americana crossed with Gothic romance. Lana Del Rey would love it here.”

“OK, well, I was hung up on the age thing at first, but, uh. Ha ha. Betty?”

“Oh, right. So, remember how you really hated Louise?”

“Hate,” Veronica corrects her. “I hate Louise.”

“Why do you hate Louise?” Other-Veronica asks patiently.

“Because . . .” Veronica gropes for words. “She’s . . . she’s _so_ basic,” she says at last, rolling her eyes. “She doesn’t have any actual hobbies, but people still think she’s interesting just because she’s got, like, a gap in her teeth. I think she whistled once and all her personality escaped.”

“Could it be that you hate her because, despite all that, you can’t stop paying attention to her?” Other-Veronica says, raising one somehow-slightly-better-than-current-Veronica’s eyebrow.

“Are you shaping your brows differently?” Veronica asks, leaning in to examine it.

“No, I just switched to the Ebony shade instead of Granite. We’re secretly a little warm-toned,” Other-Veronica says.

“Now _that_ is useful information.”

“You’re welcome. Also, what I was getting to with Louise is that it’s gay to have an archnemesis.”

“But Archie’s a boy’s name,” Veronica says. “Right?”

“Yes,” Other-Veronica concedes. “OK, you’re half-gay. You’re a fully integrated lesbian hybrid. Like a sex Prius.”

“Or perhaps I’m just bi,” Veronica suggests. “You don’t have to ease me into it.”

“We don’t love labels,” Other-Veronica waffles. “I would say maybe pansexual, or sometimes I just say ‘I love people, not gender’—”

“Ha ha, you _love_ gender,” Veronica says. “I was straight five minutes ago but even I can admit that Kristen Stewart is hotter in her current low femme incarnation than she was in _Twilight_.”

“What if I just say I like the people that are beautiful and I don’t like the ones that are not beautiful,” Other-Veronica asks.

“That’s so obnoxious.” Veronica thinks for a second. “OK, that sounds like me. So, Betty Cooper and Archie Andrews fall into the ‘beautiful’ category?”

“You have no idea.” Other-Veronica jumps up and lopes over to the dresser, where she picks up a photo of a blond girl and a redheaded boy, and hey, those faces look familiar.

“I just saw them,” Veronica exclaims. “Outside the house. She knew my name. It really freaked me out.”

Other-Veronica stops. “You didn’t say anything about being from the past, did you?”

“No, I just kind of wandered around in a fugue state.”

“OK, cool. I’ve already used up my Twilight Zone quotient with Betty this week. I don’t want to freak her out.”

“I’m dating them?” Veronica says. “Really, by the way? They are . . .” She shakes her head. “Wow.”

Other-Veronica’s shoulders sag. “Well . . . you’re trying really hard. You know what I said about small-town Americana and noir and so on. It’s all very Nancy Drew, you know, resisting queerness even as it critiques traditionally cramped notions of femininity.” She brightens. “But luckily, you’re firmly rooted in the comedy of manners. I think that, combined with the elements of classic ’80s horror, has real potential for a subversive polyamorous happily ever after.”

“I didn’t digest most of that, but it’s cool,” Veronica says. “So how’d you screw it up with Betty and Archie?”

“I went in thinking I was going to be queen,” Other-Veronica says. “I had my priorities all screwed up. It took me forever to course-correct and try to befriend Betty. But I haven’t been brave enough, and then there was the whole thing with people being resurrected, and all hail the Glow Cloud and whatnot, and . . .” She chews on her lip. “Well, anybody can wear the crown. But not everybody can make it work with the two loves of their life, you know? I don’t want to lose them. Either of them.”

“So what do I do?”

“I think you just have to _know_ ,” Other-Veronica sighs. “I mean, be gentle, obviously, but I think what with all the initial closetedness and the bitchiness and the revenants, I muddled the message a little bit. Now that you have all the information going in, you can make sure that you and Betty and Archie are best friends from the jump. And don’t go exploring in any Victorian houses. And you’re mildly anemic, start taking iron supplements.”

“OK,” Veronica says. “Um, do you have a pen or something?”

“I think it’ll probably dissolve whenever you go back to sophomore year,” Other-Veronica says. “Riverdale’s not big on material object permanence.”

“That sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“You have no idea. I order backups of all my favorite clothes and I have, like, six flash drives.”

“I’ve never kissed a girl before,” Veronica says, this thought suddenly occurring to her. “Am I bad at it?”

Other-Veronica shifts uncomfortably. “Well, you’re not bad, exactly.”

Veronica freezes. “What happened?”

“You were drunk, and you . . .” Other-Veronica shrugs. “Well, you drew a little blood.”

“Like I bit her? Wait, iron supplements . . . Am I a vampire?”

“No!” Other-Veronica frowns at her. “Riverdale is vaguer than that. You’re definitely human. Well, you’re humaner the farther you are from the river.”

“OK, good. Have you kissed Betty before?”

Other-Veronica’s ears turn red. She nods.

“Can you show me?”

Other-Veronica gives her a slit-eyed look. “Is this what we’re doing?”

Veronica puts her hands on her hips. “It’s not like we’re not vain enough. And I’m not going to screw it up with Betty twice. I’m Veronica Lodge. I don’t just succeed, I exceed.”

“I forgot I used to say that,” Other-Veronica mumbles. “You should give up the catchphrases, it’s a bit Regina. Except for the one about fire and ice. That one really irritates Cheryl.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to love irritating Cheryl,” Veronica says. “OK, I’m Betty. What do I like?”

“You like . . .” Other-Veronica bites her lip. “You like it when I fix you a little bit. Like this.” She straightens Veronica’s collar, smooths down her sweater. Tucks her hair behind her ear. “Except her hair is usually in a ponytail, so I can’t do that part.”

“What else?”

Other-Veronica smells good, like cake and orchids. Veronica needs to remember to ask her what perfume that is.

“Eye contact. Lots of eye contact,” Other-Veronica says. “Her eyes are really . . .”

“Blue,” Veronica finishes. “I know.”

“And you’re always touching,” Other-Veronica adds. “Like it could be innocent, and then . . .” She slides her hand up Veronica’s thigh. “Then it’s an accident.”

“And is it an accident when you kiss?” Veronica asks, arching an eyebrow.

“No.” Other-Veronica noses into her airspace, until they’re breathing the same breath. “Yes. It’s like . . . magnets.” She closes the distance and presses her lips to Veronica’s. Her mouth moves slowly, like she’s still shaping words against Veronica’s mouth, and Veronica follows her motions, trying to keep up. It’s slower than she’s used to kissing. Other-Veronica waits for her to deepen the kiss before she moves closer, twisting her fingers in Veronica’s hair, thumbing her jaw.

“Betty must be really sweet,” Veronica says, as Other-Veronica moves on to kiss her cheek, her ear, all as slowly and as gently as before. “I feel like I should be at a drive-in movie theater with my steady.”

“The drive-in will kick you out if they see you necking too much,” Other-Veronica says matter-of-factly. She’s practically in Veronica’s lap now. “And yes”—she tilts Veronica’s head back and presses their foreheads together—“Betty is a very nice girl.” Veronica closes her eyes as Other-Veronica’s mouth sinks back over hers, and she feels like she’s drowning.

“Do you do this to Betty,” she gasps when she surfaces again, as Other-Veronica trails her lips over her collarbone.

Other-Veronica grins. “She squeaks, you know. When I—” She demonstrates, sliding her hand up Veronica’s shirt.

“That’s very useful information,” Veronica breathes. “Thank you for an illuminating and comprehensive lesson plan—” Her eyes open wide. “Oh. OK. I need to remove the acrylics.”

When Veronica stumbles, jelly-legged, back out onto the porch, the path is there again, just beyond the trees.

“I told you it’d be back,” says Other-Veronica. “OK, have fun! Be brave! Don’t trust anyone older than the drinking age! All adults are horrible monsters!”

“Got it,” Veronica says. “God, I really did have a crush on Louise. Oh, that explains so much about my life and my choices.” She sets off down the path. It only takes a few steps before she’s crunching over dead leaves, and when she turns around, the house and the girl and the bright blue bikini are gone, and she’s back in the woods, alone. “Creepy,” she whispers.

She goes with her mom to Pop’s that night, and when the boy in the booth looks up at her, she recognizes him right away. His red hair and his beautiful face. He sings, Other-Veronica told her. She can’t wait to hear him sing.

Then the girl with the ponytail turns around, and Veronica can’t imagine how Other-Veronica didn’t know from the start that Betty was her destiny. She can feel it hum between them, like a generator.

She’s wearing her cape, and she thinks maybe she’s the witch, because she knows what will happen, and they don’t. “To be continued,” she says before she leaves, almost levitating with possibility. 

Maybe actually levitating. Only a little bit. Pop's is pretty close to the river.

**Author's Note:**

> RIVERDALE is beautiful trash. needs more witches. did you know the Veronica Lodge/Veronica Lodge tag did not exist before today, and neither did the Veronica Lodge/Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper tag? shame shame shame

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic of] you're no stranger to me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13196064) by [idellaphod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idellaphod/pseuds/idellaphod)




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